Year: 2004

Mummers Rhymes

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The Mummers were frequently accompanied by a few young men dressed in women’s clothes who gave an exhibition dance towards the end of the performance.  This was often the most enjoyable event.  Aware of how ludicrous they looked in corsets and petticoats, and much-befrilled and well-starched giant-sized white knickers, they lepped, kicked, danced and besported themselves to riotous music and song.
 
The Rhymers were popular with all creeds and classes and increased their popularity and topicality with personal and political verses.  There were ballads too concerned with love affairs of the district and peculiarities of individuals of the immediate neighbourhood.  
 
There were versions in different neighbourhoods.  This is just one.
 
Master of Cermonies:
 
Room, room, brave gallant boys
Give us room to rhyme
Till we show a bit of our activity
At this Christmas time.
Active youth and active age
The like was never acted on a stage
If ye don’t believe what I say
Enter in St George, and clear the way.
 
St George:
 
Here come I St George, from England have I sprung
And many a noble deed of valour have I done
For years I was in close quarters kept
And out of that into a prison leapt
And out of that into a block of stone
Where I made many a sad and grievous moan
Many a giant did I subdue
And I ran the fiery dragon through and through
I fought them all courageously
Until I earned the victory
Show me the man that dare me stand
And I’ll cut him down with my courageous hand.
 
Turk:
 
I’m the man that dare ye challenge
Though your courage be so great
With my sword I make all to shake
Even dukes and earls to quake.
 
St George:
 
Who are you but a poor silly lad?
 
Turk:
 
I am a Turkish champion
From Turkey land I came
To fight you, the great St George be name
And I say, by George, you are a liar, Sir!
So draw your sword and try, Sir!
 
St George and the Turkish champion engage in sword play.  The Turk falls and his mother enters weeping and wailing..
 
Turk’s mother:
 
St George! St George! Oh, what have you done?
You have killed me only son.
See him lying bleeding there
Oh, my heart is sinking in despair.
 
A doctor, a doctor, ten pounds for a doctor!
Is there ne’er a doctor to be found?
Who can cure me son of his deep and mortal wound?
 
Enter the Doctor.
 
Turk’s Mother:
 
Well, doctor, what is your medicine?
 
Doctor:
 
Hens’ pens and Turkish treacle
Bum-bee eggs and midges’ bacon
Stirred up with a great cat’s feather
Mixed in a mouse’s blether
And given thrice a day.
 
Doctor attends to the Turk.  He sits and gives thanks.
 
Turk:
 
Once I was dead but now I’m alive
God bless the wee doctor that made me revive.
And if you don’t believe in the words I say
Enter in Sir Oliver Cromwell
And he will clear the way.
 
More….
 

Mummers, Sheetrim, 1930s

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‘Heartsore imagining the years without
The Doctor, Darkie and Wee Devil Doubt.’
 
This couplet from Hewitt’s ‘An old woman remembers.. Christmas 1941’ reminded me of my earlier promise to return to the story of the Mummers.  They were also known as the Christmas Rhymers.  My mother recalls their visits to her home in Sheetrim, Cullyhanna in the 1930’s and, bless her, still has a few of their rhymes.  The characters altered a little (or is it my memory, asks Eileen?) with the latter named then known as Wee Dibbley Doubt, and the Doctor given the surname Brown..
 
‘Here comes I, Doctor Brown
I’m the best doctor that’s in the town..’
 
She doesn’t recall any Cromwell, though with the big, false nose, he was a persistent character in most localities.  There was however a Jack Straw and a Funny Face.  Nor does Mother remember any barbs directed at local characters or political personalities, but she would hardly have understood then being just a young girl.  
 
In addition to being a continuation of long custom and tradition, the Mummers were a much appreciated travelling drama troupe in a country area that had none other.  This one had no costume department and the characters were dressed in apparel they made themselves, with much straw ropes in view, coats worn inside out and hats garnered with wisps of hay.  The sword fight scene was common to all, the injury requiring the entry of the Doctor.  Some had soot-blackened faces which gave us the character of Darkie.  I haven’t yet evinced from Mum the name of any of the songs they rendered.  Can anyone help?
 
I am envious of course, the modern re-enactment scarcely making up for the kitchen drama, learning the songs and rhymes, guessing real identities behind the costumes and masks etc.  The entry of Johnny Funny sadly presaged the entertainment’s end, there following just the choral rendition of tribute and thanks to the home’s master and mistress.
 
‘Here comes I, Johnny Funny
I’m the man that lifts the money
All silver, no brass
Bad ha’pence won’t pass
Send the farthings to Belfast’.
 
All gather round to finish..
 
‘God bless the master of this house
Likewise the mistress too.
May their barns be filled with wheat and corn
And their hearts be always true.
A Merry Christmas is our wish
Where’er we do appear
To you a well-filled purse
A well-filled dish
And a happy, bright New Year.’
 
Which is our greeting to all our patrons on Newry Journal!

Travelling Companion

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A certain young man climbed on board of the overnight ‘sleeper’ train alone.  He did not intend to fall asleep and he hoped for an interesting or amusing companion with whom to while away the hours in conversation.  Suddenly walking up the carriage he spotted the most beautiful, shapely young blonde he had ever seen.  Please, please! He thought. 
 
Sure enough, she took the seat beside him.
 
Giving her a few minutes to settle in, he finally opened a conversation.
 
‘Excuse me, miss, is this a business or pleasure trip?’
 
‘Well, both.’  She spoke gaily and with easy fluency.
 
‘I’m going to a Nymphomaniacs Convention.’
 
He gagged, but finally recovered enough to speak again.
 
‘If you don’t mind me asking, what do you do?’
 
‘Oh, I don’t mind.  I’m a lecturer.  I’m delivering a lecture on ‘Common myths of sexual mores and practices.”
 
‘Very interesting,’ he managed to splutter.
 
‘It is really, you know.  For example there is a commonly held myth that the best endowed men are Afro-Americans.  They’re not.  It is the American Indian who is.’
 
‘Yes?’
 
‘And French men are said to make the best lovers.  Not true, either.  It is the Greeks.’
 
‘Really?’
 
‘But excuse me, how rude I am!  I neglected to ask you your name.’
 
He took a deep breath.
 
‘Oh, me?  My name?’ he answered.
 
I’m pleased to meet you.
 
My name is Tonto Papadoupalis!’

Use of a Handkerchief!

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You may have wondered why there’s just the tumbled remains of a forth in this picture.  Well, I’m going to tell you!
 
A man that lived hereabouts one time went so far as to drill holes in the rock under some bushes, ready to take blasting powder to it.
 
Then he took a break for he’s dinner and when he come back he found the track of a foot in the loose mould, and a penny, a pipe and a candle lying on the stone.
 
Well it was, that he knew that these were the symbols of a wake, so he abandoned the work!   
 

 
This is also one of those fields where manys the time people at night got stuck in it and couldn’t find the pad out!  There was only one solution, if you weren’t to wait there till morning!
 
You had to turn your coat inside out, to tie three knots in your handkerchief and then to sit down for a while. 
 
Then you would see your way clear again!

Agnes: Poverty Ended

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Dear Agnes,
 
You are doubtless aware of the so-called Poverty Report published today that alleges some 8% of children in Northern Ireland live in poverty.
 
Have you ever heard such rubbish?  Everybody knows there is no poverty any more!  My goodness, it’s all some want to talk about at our Coffee Mornings and Candlelit Dinners! 
 
It goes on that a quarter of them live in houses without gas or electricity!  Well, that really lets the cat out of the bag, doesn’t it?  Are we supposed to believe they’ve all got AGAs, for heaven’s sake?!
 
And it says one in seven don’t eat three square meals a day!! Well, I ask you, who does??  I never could get our only boy Cyril to eat his greens before he went up to Cambridge!  Since I took up aerobics, poor Tristan, my husband cannot even remember when last he got a five-course meal!
 
I read on teletext (what would we do without it?) that this so-called Save The Children outfit estimate 32,000 children here live in ‘severe charity’.  Well, I’d like to ask them, who do you think collects all that charity money at our Coffee Mornings? 
 
Of course there’s a few people who don’t have a second car or a little pad in the country.  But that’s life, isn’t it, Agnes?  We’re quite comfortable, thanks to Tristan’s hard work, and many are much better off than us, but do you hear me complain?
 
Even Jesus said, ‘the poor are always with us’. 
 
Tell the truth, Agnes, don’t all these ‘bleeding hearts’ just get on your goat?
 
Yours truly,
Charity Bigginsere
 

 
Dear Charity,
 
I’ve tried hard, God knows, to think of one redeeming feature of you, but the best I can say is that your mother clearly had a sense of humour that you unfortunately did not inherit!
 
I don’t own a goat.. nor much else besides.  I’m concerned for poor Tristan who must be wasting away deprived of his 5 Course Candlelit Dinners!
 
I am prepared to accept an invitation to your next Coffee Morning. 
 
I am certain that your social circle would benefit enormously from a radical dose of harsh reality!
 
Agnes Dayee
 
 

Fews Glossary: S 3

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Dialect ‘S’ 3 of 7
 
Shorten the road   have company while walking: ‘Will ye shorten the road wi’ me?’
Show                    loan, give, ‘show me your spade an’ I’ll larn ye till dig’
Showing Sunday    Sunday after their wedding, the couple attend the church in which they were wed
Shows                   refuse from flax
Shiggy-shoo          see-saw
Shook for a word   at a loss; ‘He’s not shook for a word, that boy!’
Sift                        enquire, ‘he will sift it for you’
Sipple                    drink, ‘a wee sipple now, just what’ll wet the glass’
Signed                   branded
Skedaddle              vamoose!  ‘We skedaddled while we cud’
Skelf                      a wood splinter
Skelp                     slap, blow, ‘Clear aff or I’ll give yer backside a skelp!’
Skelly                    squint, ‘God love her, she’s skelly-eyed’
Skiff                      small shower of rain
Skinning the field    breaking up the lea, ploughing
Skirl                       scream
Skirted                  run, ‘They had all skirted before the polis came’
Skite                     a light blow; to splash or throw
Skite                     1. fool: 2. ‘he won’t be long skiting across’, running
 

Killeavy Placenames

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Dromintee 
fairy bushes
Drinans or Bushes of the Shee  
 
Garriba   
Tail of Slieve Gullion
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
Dhraicklemore  
rocky outcrop Armagh/Louth border
great teeth
Monribba               townland near Forkhill on Bog Road
Clougharevan        Cloch Fhuarain, fountain rock, Bessbrook
Cloughreagh          Aghnecloghreagh, place of grey stones, Bessbrook
Cloughinny             Cloch Eanaigh, marsh rock
Crankey                 Baile Mhic Rangain, Rangan’s town
Cross                    Baile na Crosie, town of the crossing
Cullentragh            Cuileanntracht, holly district
Duburren               Dubh bhoireann, dark rocky place (Sturgan)
Derrymore             Doire Mor, great wood
Derrywilligan         Doire Ui Mhaolagain, Mulligan’s Wood
Duvernagh             Dubh Bhearnach, the Black Gap
Drumbanagher       Druimbeannchair, the peaked ridge
Enagh                    Ma Eanaigh, the swampy plain
Eshwary    Baile an eas’mhoir, the town of the great waterfall